


Raise Your Weapon

by candypinksocks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candypinksocks/pseuds/candypinksocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a thousand and one reasons Sam has for what Dean’s being doing the last month. He doesn’t even come close to the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise Your Weapon

There’s a thousand and one reasons Sam has for what Dean’s being doing the last month. He doesn’t even come close to the truth.

It starts off small – Dean shuts the laptop too quickly when Sam’s getting out of the shower. He figures it’s anime porn again, even if Dean knows how to browse on private and clear his history just to be safe anyway. Then there’s the furtive phone calls and the way he scratches at the back of his neck when Sam catches him at it. Turning it back on Sam the second Sam even thinks about asking what’s up.

They’re getting back to some kind of equilibrium, as much as they’ve had equilibrium since Sam died that first time and Dean sold his soul. He’s trying hard to make Amelia a memory and Dean’s not mentioned Benny once since they did the group break up thing. Cas’ in the wind and Kevin’s no closer to figuring out the tablet than he was before it got snapped in half.

So they take a case (an actual troll under an actual bridge) and then a week off because Garth’s got every case covered; so they watch movies and eat food not out of Styrofoam. Dean gets more furtive and Sam wants to say something but he doesn’t because he’s never seen Dean so damn _happy_. Even if he is sneaking around.

They’re holed up in some dive that’s even divier than their usual dives, all peeling wallpaper and a close to backed up toilet when Dean coughs, looks at his watch and rolls off his creaking bed to grab his duffle off the floor.

“’K, I’m outta here, back in couple hours Sammy.”

And Sam’s let it slide, he really has, but there’s only so far he’s willing to and besides, he’s getting pissy.

“Dude. Again?” At least Dean has the decency to look a little guilty. “That’s almost every night since we got into town.” There’s only one bar and after the first night Sam knows Dean’s not been there, doesn’t come home smelling of beer and perfume (or cologne), just smiling and too damn happy.

‘It’s nothing Sammy.” Except that it doesn’t look like it’s nothing and Sam’s guts twist up and he knows he’s frowning because Dean’s face shuts down. “Go ahead and ask.” Dean drops his bag and it _clunks_ , he folds his arms tight across his chest and stares right at the middle of Sam’s forehead.

“I just need to know you’re okay man.” Sam’s not going to say it, as much as he wants to, as much as he wants to throw Benny back in Dean’s face after he gave up Amelia.

And Dean looks embarrassed and maybe a little pissed off if the tight line his lips are making is anything to go by. And he’s not saying a damn word, he’s going to make Sam ask, just so he can get on Sam’s ass about not trusting him. And Sam asks because Sam always has to ask, can’t not know.

“It is Benny?” And Dean fucking laughs and Sam feels like maybe he missed a memo or something.

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Dean – “

“I said I’ll be back in a couple of hours Sam.” And with that Dean picks his bag up again and turns tail, his hand up in a half wave.

Sam doesn’t go through Dean’s stuff or look on the laptop, doesn’t turn on the tv or head out to the bar. Instead he drinks the gut rot whiskey they use to clean wounds and stares at Amelia’s number on his phone.

He wakes up at three am to Dean snoring in the bed next to his and a pair of dice in his hand.

*

“Table Top.” Dean’s trying his hardest to shove an entire sausage link in his mouth on one go and Sam’s, as always both nauseous and vaguely envious in equal measure.

“What?”

“The dice. It’s what they’re for.”

“Okay?”

Dean takes a gulp of coffee and pushes his decimated plate back. 

“Charlie hooked me up, has been hooking me up every town we’re in.” He bends down under the table and brings out what looks like chain mail. And a wand. “D&D, I’m a level nine Mage.”

Sam’s pretty proud of the fact he’s managed to stop his jaw hitting the table.

“Seems there’s a game going on pretty much everywhere and as long as you’ve got connections you can get in.” Dean taps the wand on the table and then pokes it through the chain mail before tapping it on the table again. “Been playing since we got into town.”

Sam blinks and grins and bites his lip so hard it makes his eyes water. But he doesn’t say a damn word.

“I swear Sammy, if you so much as twitch right now – “

Sam’s foot’s jiggling under the table, and he swears there’s going to be be blood in his mouth if he doesn’t stop biting, but he doesn’t laugh dammit. 

Of all the things Sam convinced himself this was going to be.

“You’ll be needing a squire if you’re going to get to level ten.”

Dean kicks Sam’s leg under the table.

“Damn right, bitch.”


End file.
